The colours of the sky (part I)

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On the edge of the town, there is an old house with a wide porch around it. When you bike by it, you can notice how little bushes of flowers are slowly overgrowing the garden, ones immaculately tended to. There are some leaves on the pavement and bushes of raspberries that desperately needed a hand to cut them down.

But the eye of any passenger always lingered on the wrapping porch, with big wooden chairs in front and a massive swing on the side. It made you wonder what lingered on the back of the house. Made you wish, you could step into that luring porch and do a step or two on the wooden flooring.

If you were lucky or like I did, gazed at the house for long enough you got an invitation for the best hot chocolate Mrs Anderson was known for. Like every Friday I stopped on the opposite street, parked my bike by a big oak growing there, sat at its roots and watched the house. I would imagine the life I could live there; when would I go to sleep and when wake up, the dresses that would hang inside my closet, the songs that would be blasting from the kitchen, what my neighbours would see through the windows... I could do it for hours and always come up with new scenarios, new plots and drama. I created my own world inside that house, so when one Friday afternoon Mrs Anderson noticed me and invited me in, I nearly died from excitement.

Stepping into that porch, then walking into the house, with my mouth hanging open, I was awestruck. I was completely amazed at the feeling that the place portrayed with all of its details. It was no longer a fantasy but a real home, with real furniture and subtle touches, indicating the character and personalities of people living there.

Since that night it become a regular thing for me to hang out at their house. A month later I would invite some of my friends and honestly, those were some of the best memories from my childhood.

At the back of the house, Mrs and Mr Anderson created a beautiful wild garden. And tho it was magnificent, whit hundreds of different plant species, nothing came near the view that opened up at the back of the house. Standing on the top of a little hill that the town grew on, the house had a glorious view of the near mountains, forest at their base, meadows in between and the vast sky, that stretched into oblivion. And even tho, the mountains were breathtaking, it was the sky that left you speechless. At night it offered a beautiful display of the galaxies, clear sighting of constellations and was the best place in town to watch shooting stars in the summer.

But it was in the afternoon when the sun caught its rays in the clouds that the view left you truly speechless. The rays created a beautiful performance of colours that made your breath catch and wonder if magic truly exists. Yellows poured into oranges and then into soft pinks and purples, and right before the stars started to show, there was this beautiful midnight blue, that made you forget about the worries of the day.

If you were a guest at their house, that was usually the time Mr Anderson would start a fire and Mrs Anderson would bring steaming cups of hot chocolate and a plate of fresh fruit. They would sit on their chairs in front of the fire, watch the night sky and tell stories about constellations. It was truly a magical experience. The calmness and happiness that they exuded made you forget about your worries and put you in a state of mind where everything was possible.

Whit my friends I've spent many of the summers days helping Mrs Anderson in the garden. And then enjoying the late afternoons on the chairs in front of the fire with stories of the Greeks and Romans that propelled all of us to play emperors and fight tragic, intense battles in the forest.

"Livia Drusilla was one of the greatest women in history. A wife to the third emperor of Rome and she was always in the shadow, mysteriously sneaking around the palace, serving silently as his advisor and confidant. Truly amazing what these two would do when no one was watching...." He would tell the stories with such shine in his eyes and always with a wicked smile on his face. Mrs Anderson would just silently laugh and take another sip of the stemming goodness inside the cup and offer him an amusing look.

Every year in late July, Andersons would hold a shooting stars night. All enthusiasts of the night luminaries would come to the house, bring blankets and lay for hours into the night, watching and wishing, dreaming, discussing and learning about the night sky from Mr Anderson. Nick was an astronomer by heart, but a mechanical engineer by profession. His love for the sky developed late in his twenties when he met his wife Gia. She was a real enthusiast of everything connected to nature and loved watching stars when she felt restless.

What most of us in town didn't know, before it was too late was, that Gia had cancer. Two months ago her heart gave away. We were told, that she didn't suffer, that she chose to spend her last months at home, surrounded by her garden and the person she loved the most in the world. She just wanted to be, enjoy her life like she always did and stay true to herself.

I haven't seen Nick since, but every time I would bike around the neighbourhood, I saw the front of the house, how it slowly gave away to the overgrowing nature. Every time I would pass it, a tight feeling in my chest grew and my legs would start to peddle faster.

Because of Gia's death, I suddenly had all this time, that I would normally spend with her in the garden. I started baking in hopes to busy my racing mind. Over the years I noticed that Gia loved to cook when she was nervous or anxious. Non-intentionally it became a way to stay close to her, to keep her in my memories, my heart. Throughout the last few months, I've gone through three cookbooks and become quite good at this new hobby I accumulated.

On one cloudy Wednesday afternoon when I finished my tenth attempt at a perfect brownie, my mom gently suggested: "You could take some of them to Mr Anderson, honey." The idea left a sour taste in my mouth. But If I was completely honest with myself, I had missed his voice and his stories.

After a little bit of persuasion from my mom and a good half an hour of pacing in my bathroom, I figured I had nothing to lose.

On my bike, with a big plate of brownies and a thermos of hot chocolate, I peddled my way to the house on the hill that held treasures for anyone willing to discover them.

...to be continued

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